


Yondu Week 2017

by LoveisYonduBlue



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 00:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveisYonduBlue/pseuds/LoveisYonduBlue
Summary: September 25  - October 1 was dubbed "Yondu Week," at least on Tumblr. The Prompts for Yondu Week 2017 were "Day 1-Slavery," "Day 2-A Pirate's Life," "Day 3-Bonds," "Day 4-Settling Past Scores," "Day 5-Presents," "Day 6-Things Left Unsaid," and "Day 7-AU". Here are my entries.Just as a side note, all of these take place, save for Day 7, take place in the universe as my other fics, "Loyalty" and "Vital."





	1. Slavery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakar sees Kree with a Centaurian slave and decides to act.

It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out for Stakar and his crew. But of course, there had to be a battle going on at the site of their heist. And not just any battle – the Kree are involved.

The Ravager Captain drops to his belly on the other side of a small hill as he sees a small group of Kree emerge from the tree line. Charlie-27 and Martinex quickly follow suit. One of the Kree leads a string of five slaves, and the other four are surrounding another individual in a wide ring.

The air to their left wavers, and a Kree transport shimmers into existence, shedding its active camouflage. The line of slaves is led up into the ship, but the ring of Kree remains standing outside. They shift their positions slightly, and Stakar can see who they’re surrounding.

It’s another slave.

Unlike the others, this one is bound by long restraining poles held by each of the Kree around him – two of the nooses are slipped around his neck, and one around each wrist, so his arms are held out from his sides. His feet are chained together, barely long enough for him to walk. His blue skin is littered with scars and blood, but Stakar is having trouble identifying what race he is of. He slips a pair of binoculars out of a pouch at his side and lifts them to his face.

There’s a crimson cerebral implant in his head, but the circuitry is not visibly active. Stakar shifts his gaze to the slave’s face, and he gasps softly at the ruby-red eyes. “Oh my god,” he breathes, lowering the binoculars slightly. “He’s a Centaurian. They cut his damn fin off.”

Martinex exchanges glances with Charlie and grips his blaster more tightly.

Through the binoculars, Stakar continues to watch. The Centaurian’s eyes flick around him from time to time, but he otherwise stands still, breathing steadily.

Three Kree exit the ship and head for the ring. They’re twice as large as the ones surrounding the Centaurian, and are wearing armor. In the hands of two are long electric prods.

One of them shouts an order, points at the Centaurian, and the two Kree holding the restraining poles connected to the slave’s neck slowly loosen the restraints, cautiously coming closer in order to lift the nooses over his head. Once done, they retreat quickly.

The Kree that gave the order comes forward, bearing something in his hands. He has a slight limp. The Centaurian gives him a jagged-toothed smirk, nodding down at his leg, and says something. The Kree barks something back, backhanding him across the face with an armored hand. Though his head whips to the side, the Centaurian barely seems fazed; he turns back and smirks again, blue blood dribbling down his chin.

The limping Kree moves behind the Centaurian and pulls a muzzle down over his face, a cruel looking thing of metal bars and leather straps. The Kree yanks on it violently, jerking the Centaurian’s head back so that he stumbles, then slaps him upside the head.

The Centaurian’s eyes narrow and darken through the metal slats. The circuitry on his implant flashes.

Stakar shifts. There’s a feeling in the air, some sort of tension like the moment before lightning strikes. He frees his blaster from its holster and flicks the safety off. “Get ready, we may need to step in,” he murmurs.

Another of the armored individuals hands the limping Kree a set of restraints, an electrified wrist-neck combination that will leave the Centaurian almost completely immobile.

The Kree with the restraining pole on the Centaurian’s left wrist moves slightly forward, lifts the noose free. The limping Kree snaps on one of the wrist cuffs, and it glows red. The Kree on the right side moves to do the same with his restraining pole, and as soon as it slides over the slave’s fingers, the Centaurian grabs it, wrapping the noose around his palm.

He yanks the pole out of the Kree’s grasp and drives it through its former owner’s throat, then does the same to another Kree at his side. In a frenzy, the limping Kree latches the restraint around his neck, so that one of his arms can’t be used.

The Centaurian bashes his head forward, straight into the limping Kree’s throat, and despite the armor, the Kree falls. With the leader out of the way, the Centaurian swings the pole around him, causing the Kree to jump back, and bolts – in Stakar’s direction.

“Don’t shoot the Centaurian,” Stakar says, readying his gun. “Hold until I say.”

“Yes sir,” Charlie-27 and Martinex reply in unison, pulling out their weapons.

The Ravager Captain watches in fascination as the Centaurian weaves expertly away from his captors, turning and using the restraining pole as a vault to launch himself at one of the armored Kree, feet first. Dropping the pole behind him, he locks his legs around the Kree’s head and drags him to the ground, strangling him with the chain between his feet.

The Centaurian comes up holding the electric prod, and uses it to take out two more guards – electrocuting one and breaking another’s jaw with a powerful swing. Before he can raise it against another Kree, he’s tackled and disappears behind a low hill.

The Centaurian emerges again, blood splattered on the muzzle, and runs forward, but finds himself surrounded by the rest of the group. He doesn’t stop moving, stays in their blind spots and attacks with quick, desperate motions – he breaks fingers, jabs at throats, punches with his free arm in vulnerable spots. Then he sees an opening, and runs again. He’s reached the incline of the hill where Stakar hides, and the Ravager Captain rises, Charlie and Martinex doing the same.

The Centaurian stumbles to a halt, eyes widening. He ducks into a crouch, hand balling into a fist.

“Drop, boy!” Stakar shouts, raising his blaster.

The Centaurian doesn’t move, eyes narrowed. Stakar rushes him, grips his muzzle in one hand, and forces him down to the ground, firing his blaster over the slave’s head. The limping Kree that was quickly advancing on them falls dead.

There’s the sound of blaster fire around him – Charlie-27 and Martinex are taking the rest of the Kree down, including the ones that are now emerging from the ship.

Stakar raises his blaster to fire again when he feels a vice-like fingers grip his neck, sharp nails digging into his skin, clenching around his larynx. He gasps, staring down into the flaming eyes of the Centaurian. He lets go of the muzzle. “Not tryin’ to hurt ya, son,” he croaks as calmly and clearly as he can, but the grip tightens.

“Let him go!” Charlie-27 levels his gun at the Centaurian’s head, and Stakar can see in the slave’s eyes that he’s about to do something very, very stupid.

“No, Charlie!” he croaks as loudly as he’s able. “Put it down. Back-” he gags. “Back off.”

“But-!”

“Do it!”

Charlie hurriedly retreats, dropping the blaster at his feet, and to Stakar’s immense relief, the Centaurian’s fingers ease up a little.

Stakar sees the Kree are all dead or at least unconscious, and draws his blaster back towards himself, so the Centaurian can see it. He tosses it away out of his line of sight, and the grip loosens further.

“Not gonna hurt ya,” he says softly, and the Centaurian calms, eyes searching his. He lets go.

Stakar stumbles back, massaging his throat. He can feel small rivulets of blood running down his neck where the Centaurian’s nails dug in.

The Centaurian looks at the discarded blasters, and makes a move towards one, but hesitates. Moves forward, hesitates again, glancing between Martinex, Charlie, Stakar and the blasters. Instead of grabbing one, he reaches around the back of his head and fumbles with the leathers straps, trying to rip them open.

“You want that off?” Martinex asks, and pulls a knife from a sheath on his wrist.

The Centaurian leaps backwards, a deep snarling noise erupting from his throat.

“Whoa, chill,” Martinex says, raising his hands. “Here.” He places the knife on the ground, and backs away several steps.

Faster than they can blink, the Centaurian scoops it up and with a single slice, cuts through the straps holding the muzzle in place. It comes free, and he tears it from his head, metal scraping across the sides of his face. He flexes his jaw, and Stakar see that some of his teeth are rotten and dull, while some of them have been filed to sharp points.

Still keeping an eye on the three Ravagers, the Centaurian claws at the device restraining his wrist and neck. “Dammit all ta hell,” he growls in a deep drawling accent. He tries pulling his wrist away from his neck to separate the restraints, but the restraints only grow closer together. “Fuck! Should’a known it’d be a new model!”

“Ya want help getting those cuffs off?” Stakar asks.

“Why, ya some kinda expert in Kree tech?”

“No, I’m a Ravager. Ain’t no lock that I can’t pick.”

“Ravager, huh?” the Centaurian says with a slight scoff, looking them over as he continues to claw at the cuffs. “Who the hell are ya?”

“Stakar Ogord.”

At this, the Centaurian’s posture changes. He straightens a little, his eyes widen just slightly. “I heard a’ ya,” he says, and his voice is lowered.

Stakar gives him a wry smile. “Glad my reputation precedes me. So how about it, boy? You want help with that?” the Captain nods at his restraints.

The Centaurian glances at Martinex and Charlie, then takes a step closer to Stakar. “Fine,” he snarls. “But ya try somethin’ funny and so help me I’ll rip yer damn throat out with m’teeth.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” He reaches into his jacket, and the Centaurian stiffens. “Relax, just getting my lock pick.” He lifts a tool out of his inside pocket, and reaches for the lock connecting the neck and wrist cuffs. “What’s your name, son?”

A slight smile curls on his bloody lips as the cuffs come free. “Yondu Udonta.”

“Yondu Udonta,” Stakar echoes, and pulls a blaster out of a hidden pouch at his back. Before Yondu can react, the Ravager fires a shot at the Centaurian’s feet. The chain holding them together snaps. “You are a free man.”


	2. A Pirate's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While trying to locate a missing Terran, Yondu overhears Kraglin and Peter talking.

It was just a normal day onboard the _Eclector._

Normal as it could get, anyway. There was some sort of noxious chemical spill on Deck 3, a fire in the kitchen sink, the hangar doors wouldn’t open for three hours for some unknown reason, and to top it all off, Quill is missing. Again.

“Damn that boy!” Yondu growls as he stalks the ship. Secretly, he’s worried. The boy has only been aboard for a few months, and he’s so small that there are hundreds of places he can hide. That, and a few members of the crew really _do_ want to eat him.

He crosses into a lesser-used part of the ship, mainly utilized for storage, and almost smacks into a pair of long legs hanging out of a vent.

“The hell-” He snaps his mouth shut as he realizes it’s Kraglin, half his body hanging out of one of the ducts. His drawling voice echoes through the vents, and a moment later, Peter’s more high-pitched, sniffly one follows.

Yondu retreats just around the corner, so that when Kraglin drops back down out of the vent he won’t be seen, but yet he’s still close enough to listen.

“She’s not really gone, ya know?” Kraglin is saying. “Ya can keep her alive by rememberin’ things she liked, things ya did together.”

“L-like the tape she made for me?”

“Tape?”

“Yeah, the tape in my Walkman.” Quill’s voice becomes less strained and is almost incredulous. “You’ve never listened to a Walkman?”

“Nope.”

“Dude. Here, you have to. It’s the best thing ever.”

There’s a shuffle in the vents, and Kraglin’s legs draw up a little further as he hauls himself deeper inside. There’s a quiet ratcheting sound, and a moment later a click, then the faintest stream of music, so soft that Yondu can barely hear it.

“Well?” comes Quill’s voice, in a yell.

“I like it!” Kraglin’s voice yells back. “I think.”

Another click, further quiet ratcheting, and a loud sniff.

“Yer Momma made that fer ya?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s real nice to remember her by. She sounds like she was a real good momma.” There’s the sound of what might be Kraglin patting Quill’s shoulder.

Another round of sniffles, then, “She was.”

“Come on, Peter,” Kraglin’s gentle voice comes after a few minutes. “I bet yer hungry.”

“Yeah, a little.”

“I know where some real good soup is, I’ll make ya some if ya come with me outta the vent.”

“…Okay.”

A few grunts and groans later, there’s the sound of Kraglin’s feet hitting the metal grating of the floor. “Easy does it. There ya go.” A softer tap as Quill is lowered to the ground. “Follow me, kid.”

Yondu steps back into the shadows of a cutout, and he watches as Kraglin’s tall form comes into view, arm resting lightly against Peter’s back, the boy’s fingers hooked in the Ravager’s belt loop. The Captain emerges from his hiding place a second later, and smiles faintly after the two of them.


	3. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an AU where Yondu lives, Stakar has something important to say to the exile.

Peter's voice echoes through the  _Quadrant._ _"Shit!"_

Kraglin's head snaps up as the younger mans' form flashes by the doorway, and rises halfway from his chair where he's seated next to his recovering Captain. "Peter! What's goin' on?"

He backtracks and sticks his curly head in the doorway, panting slightly. He open his mouth to explain, then his eyes focus on Yondu. "Hi Dad, how're you feelin-"

"Shut up, Quill," Yondu interrupts, rolling his eyes. "What the hell is goin' on out there?"

"Oh - there ships dropping out of hyperspace all over the damn place."

"What kinda ships?" Yondu snaps.

"Hell, I don't know!" Quill snaps back. "But we'd better get outta here."

Kraglin and Yondu exchange looks, then Kraglin pulls down a nearby screen. With a few clicks, he has the radar and exterior cameras up. 

"Quill, don't move this ship," Yondu says.

"Why not?"

"They're Ravager ships." His eyes widen as more and more pop into view. "Shit, it's...it's every last one of 'em. All One Hundred Clans."

\---

An unexpectedly short time later, Quill pops his head into Yondu's room. "Da- I mean, uh. Yondu? You have a visitor." He stands aside, and Yondu's not sure who he's expecting to see, but Stakar Ogord is pretty far down on the list.

Kraglin stiffens at his side, rises to his feet. Yondu glances at the First Mate; his eyes are steely, narrowed at Ogord. Since Yondu was brought back to life, Kraglin's been ultra-protective. The man barely leaves his side; only when he absolutely needs to sleep, or when Yondu yells that he needs some privacy. The Centaurian reaches out, snags his wrist, and the First Mate's gaze goes from Stakar down to meet his eyes. 

"Go, boy," he says quietly, with a nod at the door.

Kraglin’s jaw tightens, but then he nods. "Yessir." With a firm, reassuring squeeze to Yondu's wrist in return, he leaves the room. "I'll be jus’ outside." The door closes behind him, leaving Yondu alone with his former Captain.

Stakar shifts from foot to foot with uncharacteristic nervousness, hands clasped in front of him. He hesitantly approaches. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Yondu answers.

Stakar nods, offers a small laugh. "Yeah, I'd expect so."

There's silence for a few awkward minutes, then Yondu sighs. "What do ya what, Stakar?"

His face falls slightly, as if dejected, then just as quickly is replaced with a hard, stony expression. He squares his shoulders. "Can you get on your feet?"

"Yeah, I ain't some sorta cripple."

"Go on, then."

With a snarl and a grunt, Yondu shakily swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. His hand clenches a railing on the wall until his knuckles whiten, but he stands tall. 

Stakar opens the door and gestures out into the hallway. "Come on."

Peter and Kraglin, who are leaning against the opposite wall, shoulder to shoulder, straighten up as Yondu appears in the doorway. "Cap'n-"

"Dad, you shouldn't be-"

"Shut up," Yondu snaps. "Coupl'a nursemaids. I'll walk around if I damn well feel like it." He wheezes - the vacuum was hardest on his lungs. He takes a step forward, stumbles slightly, and all three men flinch violently, reaching for him. "Don't ya touch me," he snarls. "M' fine."

After a deep, rattling breath, he lets go of the doorframe and takes a few steady steps into the hall. He spreads his hands at Stakar as if to say  _Well?_

Stakar nods. "Gonna need you to follow me," he says, jabbing his thumb in the direction of his ship.

Kraglin and Peter stand behind Yondu, and they exchange looks. "We're comin' too," Kraglin says, his voice almost in a growl.

Stakar looks up into his face, slightly startled at the tone, then smiles softly. "Sure, boy. No problem."

Yondu takes a shaky step forward, snapping at Peter when he tries to assist. "M'  _fine_ , dammit!"

"Okay, okay! Geez."

Stakar leads them back to his ship the  _Starhawk,_ into the main mess which is in the center of the vessel. The giant room is filled with Ravagers, the floor itself lined almost twenty deep. Looking up, they can see Ravagers from all factions leaning over catwalks and railings, even poised on ladders and stairs, standing on tables and chairs to get better vantage points. As Yondu, Kraglin and Peter enter with Stakar, they are enclosed by the crowd at their backs.

Peter and Kraglin move closer to Yondu. There's nothing they could possibly do against so many Ravagers if they intend violence, but hell if they aren't going to fight to their last breath. They almost lost Yondu once, it's not going to happen again.

Yondu looks around, heart beating fast. His skin is prickling, his stomach dropped to his boots. The last time he was in a room like this, he was being exiled. What now? Execution, for killing his mutinous crew? For blowing his ship? Peering around, his eyes fall on familiar faces - Martinex, Aleta, Charlie-27, Mainframe, Krugarr. There are other faces he recognizes too – leaders of other Clans - but those are the ones he considered family. He averts his eyes from theirs in shame.

Stakar raises his hands, and the ship falls quiet. He turns to Yondu. "Yondu Udonta," he begins, and Yondu clenches his jaw so hard he swears a tooth cracks. "You were exiled twenty-eight years ago. But you have now been brought before the One Hundred Clans today for a different reason." He turns his back to him to address the crowd. "Yondu Udonta has survived a mutiny. He traveled through 50 jumps to reach Ego, the Living Planet. Ego, as it recently has come to our attention, was responsible for the murder of over two thousand children over the span of at least 60 years. It is partly thanks to Yondu that Ego is now dead, and will no longer be a threat to our galaxy. Yondu traveled to the Living Planet not with the intention to kill Ego, but to save one of the Guardians of the Galaxy - the Guardian Peter Quill, also known as Star Lord.” Stakar gestures to the young man, and Yondu feels Quill move just a little closer to him. “Not only did he save this Guardian, but he sacrificed himself in order to do so. He died for this man, and it is only by the grace of the gods that he stands before us today." Stakar turns to him again, and Yondu's lips part in a silent gasp of astonishment. There are tears in Stakar's eyes. "Yondu Udonta. Because of this heroic and selfless act, the Clans have unanimously agreed to lift your exile."

Yondu truly gasps now, taking an involuntary step backwards. He hears Kraglin let out a small cry behind him. "Wh-what?" he whispers.

Aleta Ogord comes forward and places something in Stakar's hand. He lifts it high above his head for everyone to see. It's a gold Ravager badge. "Yondu Udonta, I Stakar Ogord, leader of the One Hundred Ravager Clans, in agreement with the Captains of said Clans, and in witness of all present, hereby lift your exile and welcome you - proudly - back into our ranks." He comes forward and affixes the badge to his coat. The ship shakes with the deafening roar of thousands of Ravagers.

Stakar places his hands on either side of Yondu's face, drawing him close. Tears run down his cheeks. "Welcome home, son."


	4. Settling Past Scores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Originally a future part of my other fic, "Loyalty."] - When an old enemy gets the jump on Yondu, Kraglin witnesses his Captain’s fury in full force.

While Yondu brokers a deal, Kraglin sits at the far end of the bar, sipping idly at a drink while he keeps an eye on the place. The bar is filled with all sorts of seedy types; Baluurians, Badoons, Shi'ar, even a few Dire Wraiths - the place is a melting pot. He keeps an eye on Yondu. He knows that the Captain can well handle himself, but if Kraglin can prevent anything from happening in the first place, he'd rather do that.

The deal seems to go well; Yondu shakes hands with his client, and gets up to join Kraglin. 

The mechanic doesn't see the limping Kree soldier until he catches Yondu's arm from behind. He’s a head taller than the Captain, with a jagged scar running down across a milky eye. He barks something, and suddenly the bar is swarming with Kree.

The limping one that holds Yondu hisses something in his ear that Kraglin can't hear, wrenching the Captain’s arm behind him. He watches Yondu's face turn from a frown, to a grimace, to the ugliest, most furious scowl of hatred he's ever seen on the man's face. His lips curl back over jagged teeth, and his implant flames. His tongue darts over his lips before he purses them.

Kraglin holsters his gun and  _gets the hell down,_  slipping down beneath the bar with his back up against the counter’s surface between the bar stools.

 A shrill whistle seems to slice the room in two, and the sound of blood-curdling screams and falling bodies fills the air. Kraglin moves and dives under the nearest unoccupied booth, drawing his knees up to make himself as small as possible. The arrow flashes by, zig-zagging around the booths and patrons. Dark blue blood spatters across the floor in front of him. Glass shatters. Blastershot is fired. The whistle changes pitch. More screams, gurgling noises of blood in the lungs and throat.

At last, all sounds die down but for the echo of Yondu's last whistle. Kraglin can still hear the slight whine of the arrow as it continues to fly around the room unhindered. Cautiously, he peeks out of his hiding place. 

His Captain stands in the middle of a heap of bodies, his back to Kraglin, fists still clenched. Even from this distance, through the haze of smoke, the mechanic can see Yondu's hands are trembling; his shoulders shake. Kraglin spies the Yaka arrow, and remembers that the weapon, as it's connected to Yondu's implant, must be connected somehow to his brainwaves. Whatever inner turmoil the Captain is experiencing is affecting the arrow's flight path; it zips around him erratically. 

The boy doesn't move for several moments, until the arrow has decided on a slower, more organized pattern and the trembling of Yondu's shoulders has subsided a little, then he slowly, hesitantly crawls out of his hiding place. 

The arrow seems to sense him, and streaks his way. "It's me! It's me!" he yelps, shielding his head with his arms.

A sharp note from Yondu and the arrow about-faces and whisks back into the Captain's fist. Yondu holsters it, and turns, numbly surveying the damage. The boy suppresses a shudder; blood and gore cover his Captain from head to toe; dark blue, almost black Kree blood is spattered across his face; drips from his still-pulsing fin. His eyes are narrowed, his irises nearly black, his pupils are so dilated in anger. His mouth is still curled in a snarl.

Kraglin slowly rises to his feet, deciding that any kind of sudden movement is not good idea at the moment. He gingerly makes his way over to the Captain, stepping over dead body after dead body - mangled almost beyond recognition. "Are you hurt, Cap'n?" he asks gently.

The snarl slowly relaxes, his pupils begin to shrink, and the light on the implant fades. His ruby eyes lock with Kraglin's concerned blue ones, seem to focus on him. "What?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Are you hurt?" the mechanic repeats in the same calm tone.

Yondu looks himself over, turns his hands to view their backs and fronts. "No."

"Tha's good," Kraglin replies softly. "Let's get outta here, Cap." The boy places a tentative, light hand at Yondu's shoulder, and starts to lead him out of the bar.

Yondu falls into step beside him, but pauses, looking down. The scarred Kree lies there dead, his head almost completely severed by the arrow. “Ya owned me once,” he growls, and Kraglin isn’t sure if Yondu realizes he’s speaking aloud. “But I ain’t yer slave no more. Not anymore.”


	5. Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s on his first solo mission and has a surprise for the Captain.

“Jus’ take it easy, Quill. Breathe, don’t rush.”

“Okay, okay! Geez. I got it, Yondu.”

The Captain can almost hear the eye-roll through the transmitter. “Don’t ya sass me, boy.”

“Okay, I gotta – _crackle –_ concen – _crackle –_ stop talk-”

Yondu presses the earpiece further into his canal. “Quill? Quill. Come in. Can ya hear me?”

“You – _crackle -_ -ing up – _crackle-”_

There’s a high-pitched whine from the transmitter and Yondu nearly screeches in pain, digging it out of his ear. “Shit. _Shit!_ ” He crouches in front of the duct, hand clenched around the discarded vent cover until his knuckles whiten. It’s Quill’s first solo mission. It’s supposed to be a simple, quick run, so the boy doesn’t have any backup, and there’s no plan B. And now they can’t communicate. The minutes tick by, but there’s no sight nor sound of Quill anywhere. Dozens of scenarios, each more gruesome than the last, fly through Yondu’s brain. “Dammit,” he wipes a hand over his face; his forehead had broken out in beads of sweat. “Should’a never let him go in alone.” He stands, steps a few paces away, and hits the communicator on his wrist. He’s about to send a transmission up to Kraglin when there’s the sound of panting and boots on metal. He whirls in time to see Peter sliding out of the vent to the ground.

He nearly pounces on the kid, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a shake. “What the hell was that? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” the boy says, shrugging. “You started breaking up, I couldn’t hear you.”

“Yeah, sure! What took ya so long gettin’ back?” Yondu nearly shouts as he pops the vent cover back in place.

“I had to finish the job,” Quill replies, fixing Yondu with a slight glare as they walk away towards Yondu’s cloaked M-ship.

“Ya had to finish - ya mean ya _got it?”_

“Well yeah, duh.” Peter reaches into his pocket and carefully pulls out a necklace of black stones. He hands it to Yondu, who palms it gleefully.

“Thatta boy!”

“Oh, and I took this too.” He pulls a blue crystalline figure about the size of Yondu’s thumb out of his other pocket, something that resembles a Terran cat with wings. He places it in the Captain’s palm. “I thought you might like it.”

Yondu falls silent for a few moments, staring at the trinket in his hand. He blinks a couple times, then turns his eyes to Quill. “Ya…ya got this fer me?”

Peter smiles and kicks a toe at the ground, shrugging again.

Yondu chuckles and ruffles the boy’s curly hair. He lifts it closer to his eyes and turns it in his fingers. “It’s a cute lil’ bugger. I’m gonna put it up on my control console. Mebbe I’ll even start a collection.”


	6. Things Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This was originally going to be (and may still be) a future part of my other fic, "Vital."] - Yondu has a heart to heart with his loyal First Mate.

Kraglin is reclined, strapped into a chair with his leg propped up. Yondu seats himself in the chair next to him. “How ya doin’, boy?”

“I’m fine, Cap'n,” he replies. “Jus’ a scratch.”

Yondu chuckles. “Yer not a good liar, Krags.”

The First Mate lets out a short laugh and nods. “Hurts like hell. But I’ll be fine.

“Tha’s good,” he says nodding, and his voice lowers. “Listen, Kraglin.” 

“Cap'n?”

He sighs. “C'mere, boy.” Leaning over, he draws the First Mate into his arms, and hears a soft gasp from the man. He pats his back, then pulls him away again, puts his hands on either side of his face. “I been meanin’ to tell ya fer a while now. I’m sorry I treated ya like shit all these years.”

He shakes his head, eyes sorrowful. “Cap'n-”

“Lemme finish. I’m sorry fer that, and I’m sorry I never told ya how much ya mean to me.” Kraglin’s eyes widen. “Yer worth more t'me than the whole crew put together, boy. Took me bein’ away from ya to realize it, but it’s true.” He pulls the First Mate into his shoulder, and feels Kraglin wrap an arm around his back. “Yer like a son t'me, boy, and I am damn proud of ya.” He holds him for a minute, then clears his throat and pushes him back. “Jus’ thought ya should know. Sorry it took me so long to say it.” He looks up into Kraglin’s face, and the First Mate’s eyes are filled with tears.

“Thanks, Cap'n,” he finally manages in a whisper. “Ya mean a lot t'me, too. I don’t know what I’d do-” He chokes and hangs his head, unable to finish his sentence. When he raises it again, there’s a soft smile on his lips. “Do I gotta call ya dad like Pete does, now?”

Yondu barks with laughter, and Kraglin joins in, grateful for the relief of tension. “Might be better that ya don’t.”

He looks relieved. “Fine with me, Cap'n.”

“Okay,” he says, clapping his shoulder and rising to his feet. “Ya take it easy, son.”

“Yessir. And Cap'n?”

“Yeah, Krags?” he asks, turning.

“Glad to have ya back home.”


	7. AU (Old West AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the old West, Peter gets into some trouble and Pa and big brother have to step in.
> 
> Not going to lie, I love this AU so much that it might turn into a full-fledged fic later on. I've been watching a lot of Westerns lately.

Saloon girls and the piano player scatter as fourteen-year-old Peter Quill smashes into the piano, and then headfirst into the wooden bar, upsetting a spittoon. He scrambles away as the brownish black liquid sloshes out of the container. He raises his sleeve to wipe it across his bloody nose, and stops just in time. _Ma will kill me if she has to wash another bloody shirt!_ He ducks to avoid a fist, and the owner – a local rough-and-tumble named Autry – smashes it into the wood.

As he howls in pain, Quill pushes a table over to try and stop Autry’s fellow, Dempsey. It stops Dempsey, but unfortunately the pair’s leader, McKittrick, corners Quill before he gets any farther.

“Goin’ somewhere, boy?” he spits, and all Quill sees is a fist coming for his eyes, and everything turns into darkness, screams from patrons fading away amidst noises of breaking glass and wood.

\--

When he comes to, the saloon is empty. He tastes blood in his mouth and groans. He tries to sit up, but his hands are tied behind his back and he’s laid out on his side.

“Well, well, look who’s finally awake. Here, let me help you sit up, boy!” Autry grabs a handful of curls and yanks Quill upright. He yells, kicking out, and catches Autry in the knee. He swears and hops up and down while Dempsey laughs.

“Stop that foolin’ around,” McKittrick snaps. He bends down and squeezes Quill’s cheeks in one hand. “Now, boy. I’m gonna ask nice, one more time. Where’s my damn money?”

“I don’t have it!”

“Well that’s gonna be a problem.” He draws back his coat and rests his palm on his gun. “If ya don’t have it, then I’m gonna have to start shootin’ off fingers.”

“You hurt me anymore, and you’re gonna be real sorry,” Quill warns. “Just you wait. My Pa-”

“I don’t give a damn about your pa. He ain’t here, and-” he breaks off in mid-sentence and cocks his head. He turns to Dempsey and Autry, who are arguing with one another. “Hey! Shut up! Listen.”

The two of them stop, watching McKittrick as he straightens up. There’s a slight clatter as the wind outside blows against the shutters of the saloon, and in the distance a dog barks.

Then, a low whistling sound meets their ears. It’s too near to be a train, too steady to be a bird.

“The hell is that?” Dempsey whispers.

Quill spits at Dempsey’s boots. _“That_ is my Pa. And he is gonna-”

McKittrick advances on Quill, pulling him up by his collar. “You shut yer mouth.” He shoves Quill over into Dempsey’s arms, and the three of them back up against the bar. Autry pulls out and cocks his rifle.

There’s the increasing noise of hooves outside – just one or two horses, but glare of the sunset on the dirty windows doesn’t allow much view to confirm the number. There’s the jostle of reins, the thud of someone dismounting. A steady, hollow tread of boots sounds across the creaky boards of the saloon's walkway, accompanied by the clank of spurs.

Quill grins and spits blood out of his mouth. He knows those spurs. "Y'all are in trouble now," he says with a grin, and with a scowl, Autry rears back to hit the boy with the butt of his gun. Quill squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain when there's a sharp whistle. 

Autry screams as a metal arrow pierces his hand and flies through barrel of his gun, effectively cutting it in twain. He drops to his knee, clutching his bloody limb to his chest.

Dempsey and McKittrick leap backwards, their eyes bugging at the strange, hovering weapon. It twirls idly in the air, shifting positions and rolling as if deciding what to do next.

“It’s – it’s a ‘witched injun arrow,” Dempsey stammers nervously.

 A long whistle with an upturned note at the end sends the arrow streaking back the way it had come.

The bloody orange light of the sunset streaming under the saloon doors is cut by a dark shadow. The doors slowly swing open, a sturdily-built man enters.

It’s immediately apparent that he’s no ordinary man. He's an Offworlder, one of hundreds that came to Terra at the turn of the century. His black Stetson hat is drawn down low over his blue face. His duster trails down nearly to his ankles, the tails of the dark maroon fabric spattered with mud and coated in a thick layer of dust. On his shoulder is the stitched picture of a flame in faded gold thread. The arrow, still spattered with Autry’s blood, flits back and forth above his shoulders like a scarlet hummingbird. He strolls in, leisurely taking in his surroundings and the beaten form of Quill. He comes to a stop at the other end of the bar, and reaches behind the counter to grab a heavy bottle of whiskey. He pulls the stopper out with mismatched, jagged teeth and takes a swig.

A slight creak alerts the others to the entrance, where a tall, skinny young man now stands. He looks Terran, like them, but there's something off, something about his crystal blue eyes and the way he moves that tells them he's an Offworlder too. He parts his duster to reveal a peculiar long-barreled revolver, and as he hides it again, McKittrick spies a knife slipped into a pouch at his wrist. The young man settles against the far wall, hand resting on the butt of his gun. 

"In trouble again, son?" the blue Offworlder asks, his voice harsh and raspy.

Quill offers a chuckle, then coughs, blood dribbling over his lip. "Yeah, ya know how it is."

"He cheated us at cards," Dempsey spits out, then cowers as the Offworlder raises the brim of his Stetson to look at them. His eyes are a startling red color, bright as rubies even under the shadow of his hat.

"That so, boy? Ya cheat them at cards?"

"It wasn't hard," he replies.

A fleeting, proud grin passes over the blue man's face. He whistles, and the arrow flits before him, dancing above the bar. "Now," he says, taking another swig of the whiskey, "I ain’t gonna deny that Quill probably deserved what he got, but it's yer own damn fault that ya let him cheat ya in the first place. And," he says, holding up a finger as Dempsey opens his mouth, "He's my son, so I can't let ya hurt him no more. His Ma would be awful broke up 'bout it, and I can't have that.” He braces his hands in the lapels of his duster. “So. I aim to give ya one chance to let him go, peaceful-like."

Dempsey begins to release Quill, but McKittrick grips the boy’s collar and pulls him back towards him. "He ain't goin' anywhere 'til he gives us our money." His fingers brush against the butt of his revolver. 

There's a soft pair of clicks, and the Terran trio turns in surprise to see the young Offworlder man leveling not one, but two revolvers at them. Their attention had been so drawn to his fellow that they hadn’t noticed him creeping up.

"Yer gonna let my brother go,” he drawls, “Or I’m gonna blow yer damn brains out."

"Who in the hell do you think you are?" McKittrick demands, looking between the two Offworlders.

"I am Yondu Udonta of the Ravager gang,” the blue man says, “And this is my boy, Kraglin. He’s mighty protective of his brother. If ya don't let go a' Quill, he is gonna shoot y'all dead. That is, if my arrow don't get ya first." He whistles, and the arrow weaves between Quill's head and McKittrick’s nose. 

McKittrick yells in surprise, letting go of Quill, who falls to the floor with a groan.

With a neat twirl, Kraglin holsters one of his revolvers and bends to drag Quill back his jacket. His eyes never leave the trio, and neither does the aim of his other gun. He stops at what he considers a safe distance away. "Ya all right, Peter?"

"Yeah, Krag. Ouch, watch where you’re grabbing!"

"Shut up,” Kraglin hisses, flicking out the knife in his sleeve to slice his brother’s bonds. He hands him a clean handkerchief. “Ya know how  _mad_ Ma was when Milano came trottin’ up to the house withoutcha?"

"Pretty mad, I reckon."

"That there is the understatement of the century." Kraglin pulls Quill up on his feet as Yondu steps between them and the Terrans, and he holsters his other revolver. "Ya got this, Pa?"

Yondu nods. "Get the horses, meet me out back. You two don't gotta see this."

"Yessir." Kraglin pulls Quill out of the saloon, and he hears Yondu speak.

"I tried to do this peaceful. Remember this was yer own damn fault."

Kraglin climbs onto his horse’s back and pulls Quill up behind him, then clicks his tongue, leading his chestnut mare and Yondu's black stallion to the back of the saloon.

Yondu's already waiting for them, his duster spattered diagonally with blood. He straightens up from where he's been coating his hands with dirt, trying to rub the blood off. "Mer's gonna kill me. Second coat this week," he's muttering. He swings up into the saddle, and walks the stallion over alongside the boys’ horse. He takes Quill's chin in his hand, turning his face from side to side. "Ya all right, boy?"

"Yessir," he says, dabbing at his lip with Kraglin’s handkerchief.

"Be more careful next time," Yondu says, squeezing his horse's sides gently with his heels. "If ya got _caught_ cheatin’, that means yer gettin' sloppy. We’ll work on that." He sighs as he urges his horse into a canter. "Come on, yer Ma's probably gettin' supper on. She'll tan all our hides if we're late."

 -------------

A/N So I’ve been watching Westerns lately (The Good the Bad and the Ugly, the Magnificent Seven (2016) and the Magnificent Seven (1960)). I absolutely love this AU and there’s a possibility it will turn into a full-fledged fic eventually. Basic plot would be that Yondu is sort of the wandering lone gunman, split off from the main Ravager gang led by the Ogords. He finds Kraglin, adopts him, and then settles near a town where Meredith Quill works as a prostitute at the local saloon, destitute after her family was killed by the local gang. Yondu falls in love with her, always leaving money for her but never paying for sex – that is her choice to give or not. Meredith Quill is run out of the town because the locals think she’s pregnant with an Offworlder’s baby. The head of the local gang, Ego, who’s a frequent customer of Meredith’s, is furious and wants to kill her for sleeping with an Offworlder. Yondu saves her, takes out the gang, and agrees to be the father of the baby, regardless if it’s his or not. That baby of course is Peter, and after a few years, Yondu and Meredith get married to seal the deal once and for all. This one-shot is just a little peek into their lives. _PS – Yondu’s stallion is called Eclector, and Peter’s is Milano – but I needed one for Kraglin. I was gonna name her Soup, but thought that was just a little too absurdly silly. A reader on Tumblr suggested "Cawl" which is Welsh for soup - and I think I'm going to stick with that._


End file.
